Currently, for my own family history, I am working on creating a photo coffee table book to publish and distribute to family members. It will contain historical documents chronicling the stories that brought our ancestors to Canada. I also want to include photos when possible.

I have finally divided my photos down to the individual level. I only have a few photos for five of my great-grandparents, and the rest have no photos at all. Fortunately, I have several photos of my grandparents. You can’t imagine what a pleasant time I’ve had going through the photos, dusting off memories of my childhood – especially as all of my grandparents are deceased. My next step is to select only the photos that I feel best represent their personalities. How easy it would be if I could publish all of my pictures… but alas, being an independent genealogist does not allow for such luxuries!

My paternal grandparents were very outgoing, fun-loving, gregarious people who loved to laugh and entertain, make music, grow vegetables and fill their grandchildren’s bellies with all kinds of Ukrainian goodies. It’s not difficult to find pictures that reflect their personalities. My grama would cook enough food to make the dining room table groan, and she loved to laugh. After my grandmother died in 1991 I became very close to my grandfather. I’d never heard him utter more than 4 words together when my grandmother was alive. She was always clucking and giggling and telling stories so that my grampa couldn’t get a word in edgewise. Being the stoic Ukrainian he was, he found the strength to carry on “to see the world”, as he and my grandmother had long ago planned to do after they retired. After he turned 80 he travelled solo to the Ukraine, Europe, New Zealand, Australia, South America and Alaska.

My maternal grandmother, on the other hand, was the exact opposite. She was cantankerous, contrary and quarrelsome. Even my earliest memories of her are negative. As I got older I began to understand why she was the way she was. She had an obvious physical deformity that probably earned her the scorn and derision of her peers growing up. She must have had to develop a thick skin in order to survive during her difficult adolescent years back in the ‘20s. It was difficult being her grand-daughter. Eventually, I learned to ignore her belittling and reproachful attitude towards me. I realized that she was just bitter about life and it had nothing to do with me.

The problem I have is what photos to choose to represent her personality. After much deliberation I have decided to choose agreeable photos. This album is not meant to be my memoirs but rather an objective account of people’s lives. It seems disrespectful to show her in an unflattering light to future generations. Perhaps my ill-feelings towards her have mellowed in the 15 years since she died. I’ll just keep the unfavorable pictures of her (of which there are many!) in my own personal albums.

My husband and I are ecstatic to add another twig to the family tree this fall. I came across this poem by Erma Bombeck and I want to dedicate it to my wonderful, patient hubby.

When the good Lord was creating fathers He started with a tall frame.

And a female angel nearby said, “What kind of father is that? If You’re going to make children so close to the ground, why have You put fathers up so high? He won’t be able to shoot marbles without kneeling, tuck a child in bed without bending, or even kiss a child without a lot of stooping.”

And God smiled and said, “Yes, but if I make him child-size, who would children have to look up to?”

And when God made a father’s hands, they were large and sinewy.

And the angel shook her head sadly and said, “Do you know what You’re doing? Large hands are clumsy. They can’t manage diaper pins, small buttons, rubber bands on pony tails or even remove splinters caused by baseball bats.”

And God smiled and said, “I know, but they’re large enough to hold everything a small boy empties from his pockets at the end of a day… yet small enough to cup a child’s face.”

And the God molded long, slim legs and broad shoulders.

And the angel nearly had a heart attack. “Boy, this is the end of the week, all right,” she clucked. “Do You realize You just made a Father without a lap? How is he going to pull a child close to him without the kid falling between his legs?”

And God smiled and said “A mother needs a lap. A father needs strong shoulders to pull a sled, balance a child on a bicycle or hold a sleepy head on the way home from the circus.”

God was in the middle of creating two of the largest feet anyone had ever seen when the angel could contain herself no longer. “That’s not fair. Do You honestly think those large boats are going to dig out of bed early in the morning when the baby cries? Or walk through a small birthday party without crushing at least three of the guests?”

And God smiled and said, “They’ll work. You’ll see. They’ll support a small child who wants to ‘ride a horse to Banbury Cross,’ or scare off mice at the summer cabin, or display shoes that will be a challenge to fill.”

God worked throughout the night, giving the father few words, but a firm, authoritative voice; eyes that saw everything, but remained calm and tolerant.

Finally, as an afterthought, He added – tears. Then He turned to the angel and said, “Now, are you satisfied that he can love as much as a mother?”

Why a blog?

Family history just fascinates me. And not just my own. There are many facts and people that have been lost to time. I really enjoy puzzles and sometimes I come across some really interesting mysteries in my genealogy travels. I'll post some of my musings here.